Page 39 of Gabe (Blue Team #2)

My eyes were closed.

They’d been closed for so long and so tightly my temples were throbbing.

I wasn’t watching but that didn’t mean I couldn’t hear.

Every blow, every exhale.

Fists hitting flesh.

Groans of exertions.

I’d promised Gabe I wouldn’t watch. Though seeing him try to break free, thrashing and yanking on the chain above his head until blood was flowing down his forearms from his mangled wrists I would’ve promised him anything.

That was my fault. I should’ve agreed the first time he asked.

Instead, I pushed it until Gabe snapped.

I wanted to beg for the man to stop. The words clogged my throat and burned when I swallowed them down. Gabe wanted me silent and invisible, but promise or not, I could take no more. I couldn’t sit there while the man I loved got beaten to death.

Then the pounding stopped but I kept my eyes closed. This was unfortunate because I didn’t see the slap coming. It was such a shock I cried out in pain. My natural instinct to cover my face was waylaid by the rope around my wrists.

“Don’t,” Gabe croaked.

It was the first word he’d said since the beating began. There had been a lot of shouting, however, it came from the man who’d taken us. Over and over he demanded to know where Delilah was. Gabe didn’t answer and neither had I. But that didn’t stop him from asking.

“You have until tomorrow. If you don’t wise up you’re both dead.”

I heard footsteps, then saw a pair of black boots stop in front of me. The tips of his boots touched the tips of my sneakers. And for some asinine reason I thought how grateful I was I hadn’t opted for the cute sandals Ivy had bought me.

“It’s your turn tomorrow, Miss London.”

“I’d tell you now if I knew where she was.”

And I would. I would feel guilty, but I would’ve given up Delilah’s location to save Gabe.

“That’s unfortunate.” Then the man added, “Let him down and untie her.”

I kept my eyes diverted. It was a cowardly thing to do but I’d heard every strike, and I wasn’t ready to see the damage.

Not yet. Not while I was tied up. Not while I couldn’t go to Gabe.

Not while our captors were in the room to see me break down.

That was what they wanted and I refused to give them more than what they’d taken.

So, like a spineless weasel, I didn’t look up when I heard the clinking of the chain.

I didn’t lift my head when I heard Gabe’s grunt.

I didn’t move a single muscle when my hands were untied and separated.

Though I couldn’t stop the whimper when my arms fell loosely at my sides and excruciating pain chased by pins and needles rushed in.

My hands cramped and my fingers contorted into a semi-fist. I breathed through the pain, not wanting Gabe to hear it.

He’d had enough. The last thing I wanted was for him to listen to me cry.

But when the door closed and I tipped my head back all bets were off. There was nothing that could’ve prepared me for seeing the aftermath. Nothing that couldn’t stop the howling sob that ripped through me.

I’d expected damage, not carnage.

There wasn’t a single inch of Gabe’s face that wasn’t, swollen, bloody, or torn open.

His big, powerful body leaned against the wall.

Arms behind his back, legs out in front of him, shackles around his ankles.

But it was the way his head lolled to the side with his chin tipped down that crushed my soul.

Crushed. Demolished. Wrecked.

I tried to get to my feet but failed. I’d never been drugged and tied to a chair for hours so I couldn’t know what a bad idea it was to attempt fast movement.

My head swam and my vision blurred. My legs gave out and I pitched forward and landed on my hands and knees with a thud.

Pain radiated up my arms and legs but I ignored the throbbing and crawled.

I had to get to Gabe. His eyes were closed and I couldn’t tell if he was breathing.

When I made it to his side I didn’t know what to do, where to touch, what to say, how to fix what I’d done.

“Gabe,” I whispered.

No answer.

I scooted closer, pushed up on my knees, and as gently as I could placed two fingers on his bloody throat feeling around for a pulse.

It was not as easy as it looked in the movies.

Not when you were scared out of your head and shaky.

Not when the pulse you’re trying to find was that of the man who captured your heart from the moment he’d come into the room.

Right then, I would swear I fell in love with him before I saw him, before I heard his voice—it happened when I felt his presence.

That was the man whose pulse I was trying to find and the longer it took the more panicked I became.

“Please, Gabe, wake up.”

I gave up trying to find the stupid artery that would tell me he was alive and instead placed my hand as gently as I could over his heart.

And that was when I felt it—a steady heartbeat.

I couldn’t say it was strong but then I wasn’t pressing very hard so what did I know?

It was there and that was all that mattered.

I sat back on my heels and took Gabe in.

I forced myself not to look away. To study him.

To count all of the cuts that marred his handsome face.

My gaze tracked the streams of blood that started from a gash on his forehead and trailed down his temple, cheek, jaw, then dripped pooling under his chin.

There was a tiny section on the very bottom of his t-shirt that wasn’t dotted with red.

And the smell was something I’d never forget. It wasn’t coppery like I’d heard it described. It was the stench of fear—my desperation to help Gabe but not knowing how.

Totally helpless.

For the first time since I’d been brought in, I looked around the room.

No windows, locked door, concrete floor.

I ignored the blood, the eye-opening contrast of specks of deep red staining the light gray.

From the ceiling hung the chain and the only other thing in the room was the chair.

I crawled back to it, tipped it over, and studied the flimsy, metal construction.

The plastic seat and backrest would be useless.

But if I could get it apart from the support rails I could use those.

I didn’t know what I’d use them as. A weapon? A crowbar to break Gabe’s cuffs?

I yanked and tugged and pulled. There was no way I was strong enough to pry apart the pieces screwed together. On shaky, weak legs I stood. Once I had my balance I picked up the chair and threw it onto the ground as hard as I could.

If someone heard they’d come but at that point, I had nothing to lose.

By morning we’d be dead and I’d be damned if I would be sniveling in a corner when that happened.

I would not sit idly by, quiet like I’d promised Gabe.

That was never going to happen again. If they wanted to kill me they’d have to fight me.

If they planned on beating Gabe again, they’d have to go through me.

I didn’t care if I had to use the chair intact the way it was now, I’d get my swings in before they touched Gabe again.

My feeble attempt did nothing but ding some of the coating off the metal but no one came into the room so I took that as a good sign and picked up the chair. This time I didn’t throw it. I kept hold of the backrest and slammed it onto the concrete as hard as I could.

Nothing.

So I did it again and again. So many times my arms started to give out and I knew someone was going to come.

Finally, I heard a snap and the support bar came loose from one of the legs.

I waited with my heart thumping in my chest but the door didn’t open.

I waited another few seconds just to be sure.

Then when no one came I took the chair with me and went back to Gabe.

I placed my hand over his heart again, needing the reassurance he was alive. The rhythm provided momentary peace but as quickly as the emotion came it fled.

“I need you to wake up,” I whispered.

Gabe didn’t answer.

I sat down and concentrated on the chair.

It was easy to bend and break one of the support bars free and when I saw the jagged metal end I wanted to whoop in joy.

I had a weapon. And with nothing else to do and needing my mind occupied so I didn’t fall apart and give in to my fear I worked other pieces of the chair free.

I wasn’t sure how long I was at it but it was long enough for me to have most of the chair disassembled.

Unfortunately, I only had two pieces of metal I could use as weapons, but two were better than none.

Two gave me hope.

I scooted down to Gabe’s feet and took in his bonds. Plastic zip ties. I might not be able to get his hands out of metal handcuffs but I was pretty sure I could saw through the plastic around his ankles.

A few minutes into the cutting I was losing hope. I was too exhausted from what little I’d done. My biceps burned and try as I might I’d barely cut the tie.

But then a miracle happened.

It was as if hearing Gabe’s scratchy voice call my name was what I needed to renew my waning strength.

I stopped sawing and turned to look at him.

“Hey, you’re awake.”

Very slowly he blinked. “You okay?”

Was I okay?

Hell to the no I was not okay. I was terrified.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” I lied. “I got the chair apart.” I held up the bar then asked, “Am I hurting you?”

“No. How long was I out?”

I could hear the pain and shame in his tone and upon hearing that something new bloomed in my chest—hatred. I’d never considered myself violent. Even though I wanted revenge for what happened to Kalee that was shrouded in justice.

But I’d heard Gabe ashamed for taking a beating that would’ve had anyone else begging for it to stop, yet he’d remained silent with the occasional grunt.

Occasional grunt .

My strong-in-control-at-all-times man barely grunted while he was beaten to shit.

Fuck no.

Hell no.